I am regular. 7am is when I must provide an offering to the porcelain god. Why did I think that my long run on Sunday was going to be any different? Given I am attempting to formulate a race day strategy, I am now humbled.
Despite everything I had
In real life, I am a fairly vulgar guy. I could talk of secretions, bodily fluids, and shit with nary a blink. I will be naked and play gay chicken with enough enticement. But when it comes down to my own personal toilet adventures, I tend to be rather private. I can’t stand dumping in public restrooms; so much so that I will squeeze my sphincter so tight I will break a sweat, just to avoid a squat. Even the sight of “someone else’s” poo, human, animal, or otherwise, sends my gag reflex into overdrive. This is a primary reason I don’t own a pet. Trail runs are rough because every now and then, a steamer is on the path.
My back has been giving me some issues this week, so I tried “pre-medicating” before Sundays run with a few Advil. I try not to take Advil. I prefer alcohol. Post-facto, three shots of vodka at 4:30am before the run may have been a better solution. Somewhere around mile 6, the conversation turned to how my back was feeling, which was pretty damn good considering what a nuisance it had been all week. I lamented that I had taken a small handful of ibuprofen and boasted about my iron stomach. God must have heard me, because not minutes later, a cramp the size of Texas was upon me. With a grimace, I lied to my partners that everything was ok, knowing a bathroom was within a mile. I gritted my teeth and puckered up my asshole in an attempt to remain calm. The next half mile was spent trying to dicern if the next burst of anal propeltion would be accompanied by debris. 6:45 am. Right on schedule. I am sure my running partners were wondering why I needed to strip off my water belt as I bolted into the restroom. "Just have to take a leak." I cleverly lied. I just hate it when people know I am taking a shit. A big shout out to whomever was there before me and thankfully left 8 squares of paper, otherwise, the remains of the blow out from my gut would have traveled another 10 miles with me. After that, all was right in the world, except maybe a cramp or two.
Oddly, at our second water stop, She Who Knows Fashion told our partner, Chris, that she was using the “powder” that he had given her and she was not having any GI issues. Guess what that may have been?…yep, Heed! We’re heading to Boulder Running Company this week to stock our shelves.
On a side note, we were dedicated to piloting this long run a full minute slower than normal, which we did. That is, until I left the group at mile 12. Seriously, without even thinking about it, my solo pace took over and I ran the last 5 miles of my 17 at my “normal” pace. And I still had gas in the tank, until I saw the car. Mind over matter. You know you have to run 17 miles, you will. And it may be easier than the 9 miles you did two days before, because you told your body exactly what was expected.